


The Thief and The Fool

by sailorcreampuff



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Awkward Conversations, Canon Compliant, Depression, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), protective gf solla, there are warnings before chapters that are super negative tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorcreampuff/pseuds/sailorcreampuff
Summary: Íþróttaálfurinn has so much more romantic experience than sexual experience. For Glanni, it's the opposite. But somehow, they always end up in some alleyway, and they're both exceedingly angry with themselves for giving in. Íþró is determined to stop the pattern.





	1. Chapter 1

Íþróttaálfurinn has never belonged anywhere. From the very first moment he came into the world, he has never stayed in one place for long, passed from hand to hand and place to place throughout his childhood. Never having the time to make friends or get comfortable. Íþró too, has become restless, only still when he sleeps.

When he was a child, he'd promised himself to someday find a purpose. It didn't have to be much. He just needed a reason to live. It wasn't much later when he did find something worth protecting, in the coal mines- he was nine then. His face had been filthy after a day's work, but his eyes shone brightly when he saw it. An iridescent crystal nestled in with the rest of the rock. It glowed faintly at his touch. He plucked it out of place and stashed it in his pocket. 

That had been years ago. He was far more confident these days. He knew his purpose. He was a protector, an instructor- and, without knowing it himself, a dictator. He made it his duty to keep everyone on schedule. Eating the right foods and exercising the right way. The parents in Latabæ were apathetic towards their children's lifestyles, often leaving for weeks at a time without notice. If nobody else was going to take care of them and teach them how to live, he would.

It was around 11:30 at night. He'd been awake far too long with his thoughts, mostly just jogging, allowing his mind to wander. He realized suddenly that he hadn't eaten dinner. Oh, well, the bakeries and cafés would still be open. After all, everyone in Latabæ slept in late and stayed up late.

He swung open the door to his favorite coffee shop and breathed in the scent of the fresh pastries. Which he couldn't eat, of course. The room was warmly lit, with a few noticeably tired people dozing off in their chairs and looking at magazines. He ordered a coffee, black, and grabbed a few artificial sweeteners before sitting down.

He stared idly out the window, where it was finally pitch black outside. The soft music playing from the café radio gave the room a surreal and dreamlike atmosphere. Íþró's name was called, and he took his cup of coffee from the man at the counter. He bought a newspaper, too, since it was a Sunday.

The headline read, unsurprisingly, "Criminal Glanni Glæpur Still at Large". The article went on to talk about recent "sightings", and Íþró chuckled at how they made him out to be some sort of mythical creature. There was a black and white picture on the bottom corner of the page of Glanni himself. He was wearing his extravagant fur coat and brimmed hat, looking into the camera with a large grin. My, what big teeth he had.

He scoffed and drank what remained of his coffee. It seemed the villain had been lurking around Latabæ as of late, and he didn't need any more poisoning incidents. He tossed his coffee cup in the trash and hastily walked out into the cold.

He scanned his surroundings, ignoring the goosebumps on his arms. Where would Glanni be on a night like this? He was ashamed to admit that he knew more about him than he should. He'd tried to catch Glanni a few other times, of course, but he was too good at hiding. Or in other cases, "negotiating". He swallowed.

He checked inside a few bars around town until he spotted him outside, sitting in an alleyway between two buildings. He was sitting down, slumped against the wall. Íþróttaálfurinn approached him with loud footsteps and no hesitation. The small, huddled man looked up in surprise, which was quickly followed by irritation.

"What do you want?" He spat.

Íþró pulled the newspaper out of his back pocket and tossed it at Glanni's feet with a soft thud. 

"I heard you were in the neighborhood. What are you up to now, Glæpur?"

Glanni looked nauseous. It was apparent that he was working off some kind of hangover, or maybe he was still drunk. If he was, he hid it well. He cracked a bitter smile.

"That's all, you just wanted to check on me? I've been fine, of course. No _evil plans_ yet."

"Glanni." He said in a warning tone.

"What?" His grin faded. "I'm cold, I'm a little drunk, and I'm not in any shape to fight you right now. Fuck off back to your balloon."

Íþró carefully considered what he should do next, because Glanni was acting differently than normal. His confident façade was fading, and he appeared more like a scared cat than anything. However, anger bubbled up in his chest at the criminal's words. He couldn't let that kind of talk slide even for a second.

He yanked Glanni upright by the scruff of his suit, and for the first time that night he got a good look at him. The nearby streetlight highlighted his cheekbones nicely, and brought attention to the dark circles under his eyes. His hair, though short, was tousled wildly. His breathing was heavy.

"God, you think you're so tough. All you do is throw tantrums left and right like a child." Glanni hissed. "Just beat me up already."

Íþró hesitated for a moment as he decided on the best course of action. It would be easy to beat the other man to a pulp here and now, but it wouldn't be a victory. He sighed and set the taller man down. He wasn't worth it... probably. 

Even after he'd sprung off without another word, he had Glanni on his mind. If there was one thing the man could do, it was mess with his head. His fingers dug into his brown curls and he grit his teeth. He was too tired to exercise, so he was lying motionless with his eyes shut. But his mind was too cluttered to let him sleep. He shivered occasionally. It was a good thing, at least, that he kept blankets in his hot-air balloon.

Glanni was an enigma. It was impossible to know how his mind worked. He was so damn cocky, with his smooth, deep voice and aggressive posture. He could even keep his cool and remain expressionless when needed, too. No matter what situation he found himself in. He could talk his way through until it was your back against the wall.

He was seemingly uncaring and suave, so collected, without a trace of-

Sincerity. There was no romance. He expressed no emotion. That was it.

That was how he was going to break him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have each chapter planned too heavily in advance, but I do have a general idea of the plot and how the story is going to end, so stay tuned! More chapters to come, folks


	2. Chapter 2

"Bring me another."

"*More* champagne?" The bartender looked at Glanni incredulously.

"Yeah, yeah, here's your money." He dug a few crumpled bills out of his purse and slapped them on the counter. The bartender shrugged and took the cash before heading to the back to get more alcohol. 

Glanni was handed his third bottle and a glass of ice water.

"Tap water's free." The man told him, scrubbing an empty glass. "That stuff's surprisingly rich."

He just grumbled and popped the cork off, taking an unceremonious gulp and feeling it fizz in his throat as he swallowed.

Íþróttaálfurinn seemed a little more persistent than usual lately. He sure cared about "staying in touch" more than most of the men he'd been with. Well, he supposed, that's what he got for screwing one of those vegan hippies.

Nausea was starting to build up in his gut. Partly from the wine, and partly from his own self-loathing. He was objectively disgusting, he knew.

It felt good, though, playing with Íþró. It was obvious that he'd gotten better at sex over their last couple of hook-ups. He came to learn all sorts of secrets about Latabæ's perfect little hero.

His ears, for one thing, fascinated him. Just one stroke of his thumb could turn the elf into a flustered mess. He even bit them when Íþróttaálfurinn was misbehaving, which always elicited a sharp whine.  
Just the little things that made him tick.

It was always fun when Íþró topped, too, of course. It seemed grossly romantic, but he loved when they were pressed together face-to-face. He could feel every one of the other man's strong muscles against his body. Decidedly fun to make out with and grind against.

Glanni was getting a little hot and bothered now, which was a problem. When one is wearing a tight catsuit in public, that is. He tried to think unsexy thoughts. 

_Let's see... Gross old people. The fact that I'll probably vomit soon. Íþró asking me to cover my body in applesauce._

Much better. He took a few more sips of wine and decided to call it a night, even though the bottle was still half-empty. He would take it with him out into the cold.

There were probably a few cheap hotels that still had rooms available. And if not... he knew a few people.

\----------

The next morning, Íþróttaálfurinn woke up with a grin and stretched. He hummed to himself as he stepped out of his hot air balloon and set the sandbags back inside before tying it up. Once it had been secured to its posts, he grabbed a few pears from a tree to eat for a breakfast of sorts. 

There were footsteps behind him. He sat up nervously, his back to the pear tree's trunk. He swallowed and listened. A pair of hands suddenly blocked his vision.

"Guess who?" Asked a high-pitched voice. Probably a girl's, he thought.

"Halla?"

The redhead giggled mischeviously as she revealed herself. "Yep."

"It's not polite to scare people!" He complained.

"I went easy on you. My first plan was to shoot a rock at your butt."

"Lucky me." He rolled his eyes, but it was good-naturedly.

She plopped down next to him and her pigtails bounced. She looked over towards the town square with wide blue eyes. "What are you doin' today?"

He took another bite of his pear. "I woke up not too long ago, actually," He remarked. "I got to bed kind of late last night."

She nodded, but didn't seem to be paying attention. She was staring off into space.

"Halla?" He snapped his fingers.

She blinked and shook her head, back into reality. "Sorry, Íþró."

"What's on your mind?" He questioned. If any of the kids (well, he said kids, but most of them were teenagers) needed his advice, he was more than willing to give it.

"I don't know. It's pretty weird." She sighed. "I'll probably talk to you about it later."

"Really?" He was puzzled. Halla being was uncharacteristically shy. Though he supposed she did have a bit of a sensitive side.

"Well..."

He handed her a pear and waited for her to speak. She cleared her throat.

"I... I have a crush on someone." She covered her face with her hands.

"Is that all?" He asked, gently.

"What?" She peeked through her fingers. "It's really embarrassing! I'm not used to that mushy stuff."

"It's okay, Halla. Who is it?"

She swallowed and put her hands back in her lap. She still wouldn't look at him, though. "I guess if I already told you this much..."

"Yes?" He felt like a teenage girl at a sleepover.

"It's Solla." She admitted. Her confession seemed to calm her nerves- her face wasn't such a bright shade of pink now.

He knew it. He grinned. "Solla Stirða?"

"Well yeah, who else?" She grumbled. "It just feels weird. That's what I came to talk to you about."

"You came to _me_ for romantic advice?" This poor girl had no idea just how terribly confusing his love life was. Surely he of all people couldn't tell her what to do.

But she was looking at him so imploringly.

"Well... you don't want to keep it all bottled up, do you?"

She gasped. "You think I should tell her?"

"It might be worth considering."

She frowned and went silent for a few moments. "I'll think about it." She said, biting her lip. "I just think she's really pretty and I kind of wish we could hold hands more. And maybe kiss."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's what crushes do."

"Well crushes are _gross_."

"Come on," He told her, standing up. "Let's go join the other kids. It's time for some aerobics!"

She nodded. "Thanks, Íþróttaálfurinn."

A little teen romance was easy enough to deal with. Younger teens, anyway. They headed into the town square, where most of the kids were already gathered.

Íþró did a few flips before landing with his hands on his hips. "Who wants to lead today? Ah- Siggi!"

The pudgy blond boy was clearly chewing on something.

"What's that in your mouth?" He asked, already suspecting what the answer was.

"Uh... nothing!" His hands were behind his back.

"Come on, Siggi..."

"Okay, okay." He sighed. "It was, um. Some chocolate." 

"Chocolate is okay sometimes... but we agreed only to eat candy on Saturdays, right?"

"Right... it's a Monday. Sorry."

"It's alright," He told him. "Just eat a few extra veggies after our workout!" He did a backwards somersault, earning an "Oooh!" from the small crowd. He flexed. "That way you can grow up to be as strong as an ox!"

His expression brightened. "Okay! I won't do it again!"

Now that that was over with, Íþróttaálfurinn glanced around between all the kids. "Who wants to lead today?"

"Me!" Solla cried.

"Fantastic!" He beamed. The pink girl walked up to the front. "We'll start in 1, 2, 3, go!"

It was around noon that they took a break to eat lunch. Everyone was working up a healthy amount of sweat, and Íþró passed out homemade lunches.

"Does everyone have enough water?" He asked.

Solla was still as energetic as ever. "Yes, I think so!"

Out of nowhere, his crystal started beeping. He received a brief mental vision of MayhemTown, and a couple of kids who'd bitten off more than they could chew. He might not be able to make it in time.

He started off without a warning, shouting back at the kids, "I've gotta go!"

He pulled his air balloon down with great force and hopped inside, turning up the gas. He steered his way over to MayhemTown and hopped to the ground before the balloon had even landed.

Sprinting from building to building, he came to the apartment building he'd seen in his mind just minutes ago. He kicked the door open without bothering to knock.

He entered to find a startled group of gang members and some frightened children.

"What's going on here?" He demanded.

He slowly stepped forward, coming in-between the men and those three kids.

The gang, he now recognized, was the usual band of troublemakers that hung around between towns looking for deals. The MayhemTown gang. 

The men seemed in shock at first, but eventually, one of them spoke up: "Those little thieves took something of ours. It's none of your business, tough guy."

He cocked an eyebrow. They were confident today.

"So you followed them to their apartment to get it back? Just what was it?"

Something was tugging at his leg. He looked down at a small boy with a fistful of dollar bills.

"That's our money. We're gonna need it back."

He looked around and was saddened to find that, from what he could see, the home lacked a lot of basic furniture. There wasn't a TV or even refrigerator in sight. It was obvious that this family could use extra cash. Íþróttaálfurinn swallowed.

"I'll make you guys a deal."

"What?"

"I'll just... go ahead and give you double what they took, if you never talk to them again. And I need some information."

They paused. "Why not," the leader said. They shoved their hands into their pockets in one odd, synchronized movement. He was beginning to take these goons less and less seriously. "How about we meet outside?"

He agreed, then waited for the men to leave. He turned towards the children. "Are you guys alright?" They all nodded silently.

"...Thank you." Said the boy that had grabbed him before. Íþró gave them a look of pity before continuing outside.

The Mayhemtown Gang was slouched against the wall by the front door, waiting impatiently.

"You better have cash."

Íþró hoped he did, at least. He took off his hat, and he was pleased to find that there was a decent amount of money hidden in there. Their eyes gleamed enviously.

"Not so fast," He glared. "You're those little punks who were working for Glanni Glæpur a while back, aren't you?"

"That's us." One of the men shrugged.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"That guy? He's in Latabæ right now, I think-"

"No, I mean- About his personality."

They stared at him blankly.

"I just, uh, need to know about any weaknesses of his."

"Awright, that's an easy one." One of them crowed, taking the money from his hand before he could protest. "The guy's all talk."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a big coward! He scares easy." Another guy piped up. "He can threaten you all he wants, oh yeah, but when it comes to actually _hurting you_..."

He nodded in agreement. "That makes sense, considering our first meeting... I guess I'm pretty scary, though."

"If you say so. Anything else? Sometimes he meows like a damn cat for no reason... Wait! If you want us to spill any more secrets, you'll have to pay."

He squinted at them, trying to decide whether it was worth it.

"That's fine. I'm getting out of here." He did a cartwheel in the other direction, then stopped to add, "Don't tell anyone I was hanging out with you bums. Or else." 

"Whatever! Scram, you tree-hugger!" They stuck out their tongues in an exaggerated and childish manner.

He left them alone and made his way back home. Unfortunately, he hadn't learned much (except for the cat thing?), but it didn't matter. He had a complicated plan now for getting back at Glanni. 

He told himself that the man deserved it for all the people he'd ever hurt. His manipulative ways, his sly grin, his pretty grey eyes... He scowled. It was Glanni's fault that he was still on his mind. He was taking advantage of a noble hero.

All he needed was an opportunity to try and romance him. He'd lure Glanni in with his unexpected tenderness, and in the end, he'd leave him to suffer the bitter taste of his own medicine. If that happened, Íþró hoped, then maybe he could move on as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this felt a bit like a filler chapter, I promise that the Soalla subplot has greater importance to the story than you'd think! ;) At least this chapter came out quickly, right? And Ithro seems to think getting Glanni to open up will be easy... hm... we'll see about that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Íþróttaálfurinn has absolutely NO idea what he's gotten himself into. (Warning for descriptions of a panic attack/intensely self-hating thoughts at the end, lads)

Robbing jewelry stores was such a hassle these days. Glanni growled to himself in frustration. It used to be so much easier! When he was a teenager, they didn't have as many forensic scientists, and all this modern technology... Just wearing a ski mask didn't cut it these days. The doors clicked shut in one quick motion. Automatic locking doors, of course.

Luckily he was a quick thinker. He gripped the bag of valuables close to his chest and scurried along the walls, searching for a way out. His search was fruitless, and he was forced to use the emergency door, which set off a loud, screechy alarm.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Police sirens were approaching the parking lot, and he ducked into a patch of sharp bushes to avoid their sight. His legs were scraped by thorns through his suit and he winced, but managed to keep quiet. Only one cop car showed up with a few officers, and both of them went inside the building. Latabæ had a terrible police force.

He snickered and stood up, brushing himself off, hissing at the feeling of fresh scratches all over his body. It wasn't quite dark outside, but the sun had set recently. He stepped carefully out of the roses.

He glanced back at the jewelry store and crept away, bumping right into Íþróttaálfurinn.

"Oh." Was all he could manage to say.

Íþró adjusted his hat. "I heard that there were plans to rob this place soon. I'm the one who called in the police tip."

Glanni looked down at him through narrowed eyes. "You? What for?"

"I figured you were the one behind it," The man rubbed his neck awkwardly. "And I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yes, hard to stay away from me, isn't it?" He mused. "Well then, my place or yours?"

"That's not... what this is about." He averted his gaze. Well, _something_ was definitely bothering him. The other man noticed his cuts and gave a small gasp. "Wait a minute, are you hurt?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. Diving into rose bushes will do that to you. Why?"

"You should clean those before they get infected."

Glanni snorted. "Why do you care?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He shot back. Íþró's expression was hard to read. It was... blank, mostly, but he seemed to be hiding something?

"For one thing, you're a self-righteous prick who thinks that _I'm_ the pathetic one, when you're the brute that's constantly tracking me down and begging me for a good time."

Íþró seemed surprised. He smirked and continued.

"I'm not sure what your definition of 'hero' is, but I don't think you're meeting it. So don't pretend to care about me when you've been trying to send me to jail for the past few months."

This was supposed to be the part where Íþró came to his senses and got angry, which was all he was really good for. Glanni oftentimes thought that nobody had ever taught him his manners. He could feel the other man tensing up, and instinctively braced himself to be hit. He actually liked it, after all.

There were a few moments of unbearable silence. He could hear that Íþró was breathing heavily. Strange.

"Why do you think I follow you around so much?" The other man finally spoke, quietly, looking at the ground.

Glanni opened his mouth to respond, but Íþró _shushed_ him and glanced towards the store. Then the elf picked him up, slung him over his shoulder, and started jogging.

"Hey!" Out of all the things he could've done, this was not what he was expecting. "Put me down!" He pounded his fists on his back in frustration.

Íþróttaálfurinn gave no response and kept going, holding him in place by his thighs. But Glanni could've sworn he heard a laugh.

They stopped and he put him down. They were in front of the same bar they'd seen each other at a few nights ago.

"What was that about, asshole?" He prodded him in the chest with his finger.

"We had to get away." He shrugged. He had a dumb smile on his face.

Glanni just growled at him.

"Hold on, kitten, I didn't get to finish what I was-"

"Kitten?" He exclaimed. He was somehow both flattered and insulted all at once.

Íþró's face was pink. "I don't know."

"You're acting really weird tonight." Glanni huffed. "What's your problem? You're usually a lot more annoyingly forceful."

"I'm not sure myself." His confused smile was oddly charming. There was a 100% chance he was up to something now. "Anyway, even I won't let you go to jail when you're hurt like this."

"Then what are you going to do?" He asked suspiciously. He hoped Íþró was able to tell that he was on thin ice.

"I keep a first-aid kit in my balloon. There's blankets, too. Come on."

He supposed he didn't have a choice.

\----------

Íþró wasn't a great actor, but he knew that Glanni wasn't exactly falling for this the way he'd hoped. Of course he'd be suspicious! How could he have been so optimistic about his reaction?

The other man was following him back to his hot-air balloon a few steps behind him, not saying a word. To be honest, he hadn't actually expected Glanni to get hurt from this. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

They arrived at where he'd left his balloon near the town square. The children were asleep, he assumed. "This way," He whispered.

He opened the little straw door and Glanni stepped inside, attempting to make himself comfortable on the floor. Íþró pulled out a rag and found an unopened water bottle. It would work fine enough. He unscrewed the cap and poured a little water onto the towel.

"Hold still." He murmured. Glanni's eyes widened, but he did as instructed. He tensed up when the rag touched him, but quickly relaxed as Íþró washed the blood away. He looked embarrassed. Maybe there was still hope for this to work.

"Does that feel better?" He cooed.

"...Yes."

"Good. You've been doing a good job staying still." Glanni rolled his eyes. "I mean... I'm glad you're okay."

"Huh?" The other man stared at him in disbelief.

He couldn't make this seem too nice. "Who else would I chase down the alleyways?"

He threw the rag aside to throw away later. There was too much blood to clean it off, anyway. He reached inside his first-aid kit and retrieved a roll of gauze from inside.

"What are you doing now?"

"You have to protect this skin. It just healed, so it's really sensitive. The slightest pressure could open up your wounds again." His voice was soft, but with a safe amount of emotional non-commitment on his part.

He wrapped his arms and legs in bandages where they'd been hurt the most. He leaned back to inspect his work and Glanni swallowed nervously. Success.

"Stay out of trouble for a while, won't you, Glaepur?" He said good-naturedly. 

"Sure, yeah."

He stood up quickly and left, ears pink. He didn't turn around, and he didn't say "thank you". Íþró one, Glanni zero.

\----------

Glanni was curled up on some disgusting hotel bed. It didn't make sense. Nobody cared about him. Nobody _should_. As much as he was desperate to find personal relationships, it was also the reason he rejected them. He did not deserve it.

It's been repeated to him time and time again. He never should have existed, he's a waste of money, he needs to try his hardest to make up for being born. His heart was racing. His best was never enough, it was all his fault his family lived in poverty, it was _his_ responsibility...

His breathing grew heavier and faster. He was taking in too much air. He was trembling badly, and clung to clothes with his hands to try and make it stop. 

He'd forgotten about the stolen jewelry. It was too late to go back for it. He was useless.

He was not used to tenderness. If anyone was interested in him, it was out of some mutual benefit. Money, sex, whatever. He shivered. Why... would Íþró want him to feel good?

It was probably a trap. There was something else he was after. But if Íþróttaálfurinn was going to play these terrible games, why not join in? It wasn't real, it never would be, but who cared? 

He swallowed. He was starting to calm down, and he could think clearly now. Most of the time, he ended up crying for what felt like hours.

So he'd "stay" with Íþró. He wasn't about to let down his defenses for this idiot, but he could probably find a way to trick him eventually. And if not, maybe he could even pretend he was really being loved.


	4. Chapter 4

Glanni called up to Íþró's hot-air balloon, which was currently hovering about thirty feet in the air. "Íþróttaálfurinn?"

"Glanni?" He shouted back. What was he doing here? And in broad daylight, no less. They usually only saw each other under the oh-so-discreet cover of the night.

He turned down the flame and set down his telescope. Making sure everything was in place, he shouted for the other man to pull him down from the sky. He was watched over the side as he approached the ground little by little. Glanni's eyes were eager when he saw him. He almost seemed _giddy_.

"You called me by my first name." The man purred. "Usually you just call me Glæpur."

"Did I?" That bit hadn't been intentional- but it was a nice touch. Still, he'd better watch his step or he'd end up liking the bastard.

"Of course," Glanni said lowly, "You can call me 'Kitten', too, if you'd like."

He shivered. "Oh." What had brought on this smooth flirting? He didn't need to flirt, anyway- if Glanni wanted to fuck, he usually just asked. Blatantly. "Well..."

"Well, darling, I was hoping you could buy me a drink."

Íþró looked at the sun. "It's not even past noon."

"Fine. Lunch, then. I'll even let you hold the door for me when I walk in."

Íþró was confused by how seemingly _effective_ his wooing had been last night, but if Glanni wanted to do his job for him, he wasn't about to argue.

"Sounds good to me." He said, managing to look sheepish.

They found a quaint little local business- a sandwich place- and the shorter man realized that he was actually hungry. He ordered a hero sub with at least five different meats and plenty of veggies. Glanni got a chicken wrap and made it very clear that, no, he did not want any vegetables whatsoever.

Instead of sitting opposite each other, they decided to sit side-by-side in a booth as they ate. Íþróttaálfurinn tried his best to chew with his mouth closed, but his sandwich was pretty thick.

"So, uh," He said in-between bites. "Why'd you come find me today?"

Glanni stirred his drink with his straw. "Isn't it obvious? I wanted to... to thank you, I guess."

"Really?"

"Yes, for helping me out last night. Even though it was your fault.

"Yeah." Íþró used his free hand to feel the other man's arm. He rubbed his thumb in slow circles. "Do they feel a little better now?"

Glanni seemed surprised again by his sudden affections, but only for a moment. He closed his eyes and sighed happily, his shoulders relaxing. Interesting.

"Yeah. They're alright." He said, obviously comfortable. Might as well go in for the kill.

"Actually, Glanni..."

"Hm?"

"We should do things like this more often."

He scoffed. "You mean, like buying me food? I could get used to that."

"No... I mean seeing you more often, outside of bars and crummy motels."

"What, do you miss me?"

"I..." This was difficult. He looked towards Glanni. "Ye-Yes." Why was this actually making him nervous?

"Íþróttaácow, you big sap." His painted lips grew into a broad grin. "If this is your way of asking me out... then the answer is yes. Why not?"

"Wait, really?"

"I was starting to think you'd never ask." He sang.

"Ah." He looked down at his plate. Did Glanni mean that?

"Are you doing anything else later today?"

He hadn't expected a question like that, either. "Well, no," He answered.

He hadn't seen the kids yet today, but they could wait until later for their exercises. An entire day of scoring points with Glanni was more important. He gave Glanni's shoulder a quick squeeze before standing up and leaving the table. He tossed the rest of his food.

"So, where did you want to go?" Íþró asked as they walked outside.

"Oh, I know I place I'd _love_ to take you." He chuckled.

When they started approaching a fancy makeup store (how was the name supposed to be pronounced?), the elf thought it was just a joke, and that they were going somewhere else. But next thing he knew, he was stepping inside the automatic doors to a heavily-perfumed, brightly-lit corner of Hell. He sneezed at the assault on his senses.

Glanni seemed amused. "I have a few things to get here, but I was hoping I could watch you try some of this stuff on."

"Makeup?" He didn't believe it. Though in retrospect, he should have, because this was Glanni.

"Of course! The employees here are great. They'll help find your best lip color."

"I like my lips just fine the way they are."

"Eh, I've kissed prettier."

Íþró squawked in protest, but Glanni was laughing at himself. His nose crinkled every time he laughed, and he covered part of his mouth with his hand. He shouldn't have noticed things like that, and yet...

One of the store associates, a young woman with very expensive-looking lipstick and perfect eyeliner, approached the two with a smile.

"How can I help you today?" She chirped. "Oh, Glanni! Welcome back!"

"Brynja!" He pulled her into a big, corny hug. "Please get this man some eyeshadow and lipstick. At _least_."

"Will do," She winked. This way, sir!"

Íþró was ushered towards the side of the store, where mirrors and stools were set up together. It reminded him of a hair salon. He plopped himself down, and Brynja grabbed a makeup bag from inside her drawer. 

"You don't have sensitive skin or anything, do you?" She inquired.

"No... at least, I don't think so?"

She giggled. "You're probably fine. Like, Glanni always needs to buy makeup with all-natural ingredients, or he gets an allergic reaction."

"Oh. I guess I should be alright then."

"Okay," She said, rubbing a concealer brush in powder. "Don't move while I give you a base coat and fix these blemishes..."

Holding still was difficult for Íþró, and the brush was making him ticklish, but he managed. She moved away to grab more tools, and he saw himself in the mirror. His skin looked so much smoother.

She leaned back in front of him, a natural eyeshadow palette in hand. "How do you know Glanni?" She asked casually.

"Oh. We're friends, kind of. Or, I think this is a date, but I'm not sure? I think he just wanted an excuse to embarrass me."

"Oh, honey, it's not embarrassing." 

The "honey" bit almost made him snicker, but he held himself back. There was no way this girl was older than him.

"Makeup brings out your full potential!" She went on seriously. "It can be a real confidence booster."

It was hard to concentrate on the conversation and try to keep his eyes closed at the same time. If he squeezed his eyes shut too hard, she let him know. "He's a total sweetheart, bringing you here." Brynja said. He wished he could roll his eyes.

Glanni walked over a while later with his shopping bags. They were almost done, but Brynja had taken the last five minutes trying to get his eyeliner wings perfectly symmetrical.

"Done!" She cheered, then stepped out of the way so Íþró could look at his face in the mirror. The two men gasped in unison. His makeup was objectively perfect.

"Brynja, you genius!" Glanni exclaimed, clasping his hands together.

He was wearing adorable blush in a subtle pink tone, with mascara that made his eyelashes look big and curly. His lipstick was shimmery, but not too gaudy, a light magenta color. He was surprised that it was so tasteful, having expected tacky neon colors everywhere.

Íþró tipped her generously on his way out and thanked her for her little makeover. He even wore his new look out of the store. Glanni couldn't stop staring.

"I really should get back to the kids now," He said.

"That's fine, I had fun." Glanni seemed genuinely pleased.

"We can see each other later, maybe?"

"Sure." 

Íþró had to leave, but had no idea what he should do before taking off. He settled on an awkward shoulder pat and a "see ya." A kiss on the cheek would've been ideal, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even though this was the same man that literally wanted to be punched in the face during sex.

He jogged and flipped his way back over to the west side of Latabæ. The children were crowding around him excitedly.

"Yo, yo, yo, what is that makeup about?" Jives asked. He didn't seem judgmental- just confused. Everyone else quickly noticed, and he was surrounded by a swarm of questions.

"I just decided to go out for a few hours. I went to this makeup store, and, uh, it was some French name."

"Oh, I go there!" Solla piped up. "It's called _La Fée's_."

Jives laughed. "I like this new Íþróttaálfurinn look!"

"I-I'm not planning on wearing it all the time." He said shyly. "But I guess I could give it a try more often."

Halla made deliberate eye contact with him and motioned for him to come closer. While nobody was paying attention, she asked him if they could talk together alone.

"That's okay! Let's go talk by the pear tree, yeah?"

They snuck away while the other kids blabbered on. Siggi was trying to debate whether or not lipstick was edible. Why else would they make that soda-flavored lip gloss?

The wind was really starting to pick up, though there were few clouds in the sky. The leaves in the trees rattled together. Halla sat down on a comfortable patch of grass, Íþró doing the same.

"What's going on? ...Is it about Solla?" He asked quietly, though nobody else was around. 

"Yeah. I've decided I'm going to tell her, but I need your help doing it."

"You want me to help? How?"

"I don't mean I want you to be there!" She blushed. "I just don't know _how_ to do it." She crossed her arms stubbornly.

"Hm? Well, it's kind of hard to explain... and it's definitely hard to talk to tell somebody you like them..."

"How do _you_ do it, though?"

"Me? I don't have any crushes."

"You must have had some in the past."

He sighed. "That's true. I did."

She looked at him expectantly with those wild blue eyes of hers. Her front teeth always stuck out a bit, but it was endearing somehow.

"Alright, well. When I turned eighteen, I was finally allowed to go wherever I wanted. I was free to pick a job I liked, what food I ate..."

"You mean you couldn't make decisions like that before?"

"Oh no. I was always a worker. They sent me wherever I was needed, and I did my job. It was very hard work." 

Her mouth was hanging open a bit.

"It's okay! The first thing I did was train myself. I trained under Hero Number Eight because I wanted to help take care of kids and make sure they lived long lives. Number Eight was an excellent mentor... she also had the title of Íþróttaálfurinn."

"So that's not your real name?"

"No, but I never had a real name. I was just 'number nine' to most of the other elves. That's why when she retired, she passed that name onto me. Said I'd earned it a long time ago."

"What was her real name, then?"

"Atena. But I don't address her by her first name out of respect for my teacher."

She was quiet for a while. "So, uh... was she the one you had a crush on?"

Íþró choked on his own breath. "No, no! I just got sidetracked." He sputtered. He cleared his throat as Halla was laughing. "There was somebody else."

"Well, spit it out!" She cried.

"There was another hero training with me at the time. We worked together and I developed a one-sided admiration."

"So... by 'one-sided admiration' you mean crush."

"That's right."

"How'd ya _ask_ him about it, though? What did you do?"

He paused. "I think you should tell Solla face-to-face. If that's too embarrassing, you can write her a letter."

She laid down with her head in her hands. "You don't think I should do something fancy?"

"No, no. If she likes you back, it won't matter how you ask her out. She'll say yes."

"Huh... I guess that's true. But hey, not so fast!"

"What?"

"You changed the topic! I wanna know who this guy was and what happened!"

He frowned. "You're a nosy one, aren't you?"

"You're the one who brought it up!"

He glanced back towards the square. The kids were probably starting to wonder where they'd gone now. He sat up, and Halla followed suit.

"That's a story for later, okay? Your friends are waiting for you."

"I guess so. I'll see if I can talk to Solla after everyone's done hanging out..." She looked so nervous just talking about it, it was giving Íþró secondhand anxiety. 

"You'll do great! And even if she doesn't like you that way, you can still be her friend."

"You think she'd want to?" She said, biting her nails.

"If that happens, it might be a little awkward at first. But it takes more than a silly little thing like that to destroy a friendship."

"Yeah. You might be right."

"Don't be scared."

"Hey, I'm not!" Her hands were in fists down at her sides now. "I'll talk to her and it will be fine." She got up and marched ahead of him with rigorous determination. 

He smiled to himself and followed her lead. Maybe he'd stick around and see how it went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went with the popular headcanon that Íþró is Number Nine, and I referenced Sportacus's unused backstory for his past. I also heard in an interview somewhere that Magnus said Number Eight was a woman! So I chose the name Atena for a lot of reasons. I hope you enjoyed this update!~


	5. Chapter 5

He should not be doing this. Glanni should not be having cute dates with Íþróttaálfurinn, and they should not be doing cutesy things like hold hands as if they've never touched each other before. This would not last.

What he didn't understand was why Íþró hadn't dropped the lovey-dovey shit and just had sex with him already. It's what he was after, wasn't it? It was all Glanni was good for.

He felt a certain guilt whenever Íþró looked at him in that way of his- his eyes could be so warm and gentle. It was the same way he looked when he was encouraging the kids, but softer. Almost like he wanted to support Glanni and make him feel nice.

But it was wrong. The other man hadn't the faintest idea how horrible Glanni really was. He was beyond repair- irredeemable. It was nice to forget what it felt like to be himself, in a way. He groaned.

Íþró wasn't going to have the last laugh, he knew that much. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being the one to break up with Glanni. He couldn't wait to see Íþró's face when it was the other way around.

But there was still one small, extremely improbable possibility. And that was that... what if the other man was being genuine?

What if he meant it when he gave him embarrassing nicknames, and he actually wanted to find some way to make things work? It angered him that such a thought would dare sneak into his mind, but he considered it all the same. Clearly more research was necessary before he could determine the best outcome.

Let's see... what would happen if he amped up his approach? He got up and stepped over his old clothes on the floor to reach the mirror. The bags under his eyes would be fixable.

He opted for a more provocative shade of lipstick this time, a nice matte black. Instead of wearing his usual outfit (it's not like this was a heist or anything) he picked out some more casual clothing. A loose pink blouse would work nicely. He paired it with some tight slacks that were covered in a rose pattern, and a black collar. He slipped on his favorite chunky heels, looked in the mirror one last time, and sprayed on a bit of perfume.

He considered finding the elf again, like he'd done yesterday, before he got a better idea. He dug an envelope out of his drawers, a small sheet of paper, and a gel pen. He scrawled out his invite in messy cursive, somehow keeping it legible. He signed his message with a kiss at the bottom, just for kicks.

Surely he could get one of those brats to deliver it. He stepped out of his hotel room after sealing the letter shut. He passed by the bank, trying not to look suspicious. He'd robbed it before, after all. 

Nenni walked out, his tacky yellow vest blinding in the sun. Glanni approached him, attempting to hide how he felt about the boy's fashion sense.

"Hey there, kid!" He smiled awkwardly. "You're... here at the bank, all by yourself?"

He sneered at him. "Of course. I don't trust the rest of my family with _my_ allowance."

Nenni had this "what do you want" look on his face, and Glanni resisted the urge to try and wipe it off. What was he so smug about? He looked like a clown.

"Ahem. You're a friend of Íþróttaálfurinn's, are you not?"

His expression brightened slightly. "Yeah. I hang out with him every day! He's basically my personal trainer." Bullshit.

"Do you think you could give this to him for me?" He asked patiently.

"I guess so? Who are you? You look familiar..."

"Ah, I'm a friend of his. And you may have seen me on TV before? I'm, er, a model. And I do commercials." He practically shoved the envelope into Nenni's hands. "Just make sure you hand it over next time you see him, okay?"

"Hmph. Sure."

Glanni scowled to himself as he walked away. How could a mere child be so sassy and confident? And an unfashionable one, at that. No use griping about it, he supposed.

\----------

"Wow, someone gave you a letter for Íþróttaálfurinn?" Halla gasped.

"Yes, but... it's kind of nice-looking. Maybe I could keep it?"

"Nenni! Of course you can't! It's not yours!"

"Why can't it be?" He whined.

She rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless. I'd better deliver it for you." She swiped it from him before he could protest. "I'm on my way to go see him anyways."

\----------

That old pear tree was starting to get more and more visitors as of late. Talking to Halla one-on-one was nice- Íþró tried to make a point of bonding with all the kids individually, but some were more reserved than others. 

When she came into view, she was dashing up the hill with something in her hand, and sweating quite a bit. She stopped when she got to the top and put her hands on her knees.

"What's the rush, Halla? Or were you just exercising?"

"I was running from Stenni." She breathed. "He was trying to take this." She held out a blank white envelope. Íþró's name was written on it in maroon cursive letters.

He took it and continued to stare at the letters. "Where did he get this?"

She was still short of breath, but her voice was much steadier now. "I'm not really sure. I think he said it was a man?"

"...I'll open this later." He suspected he knew who the writer was, and that the letter's contents may not be suitable for Halla to hear. "Well, how did things go with Solla?"

She grinned. "Oh yeah! She said that she actually likes me back! Can you believe it?"

"Of course I can!" He _may_ have eavesdropped a bit to see what Solla's reaction would be. 

"She hugged me!" She gushed. "And then we held hands, and she wants to go on dates and stuff!" She seemed thoughtful. "It's kind of like how things were before, but with stuff like that. You know?"

Íþró didn't know. He'd never really dated anybody he was already friends with, but it sounded like he ought to give it a try. He nodded yes anyway.

"I forgot I agreed to meet her by the hall in a few minutes, actually! She fidgeted excitedly with the slingshot she always carried in her pocket. "Thank you for helping me!"

"Any time, Halla!" He called as she ran off. His eyes shifted to the letter on the ground. Hesitantly, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside. He could smell perfume. Oh lord.

_Íþró,_

_Thank you sooo much for the date yesterday! <3 If you're not too busy, we should go out again this evening. Or you could call me, just so I can hear your voice._ He'd left his phone number in scribbly letters. _I really do think you should wear makeup more often. It does wonders for those delicate features of yours. Meet me at Rocky's (the only bar in this miserable town) tonight around eight.~_

_Yours, Glanni Glæpur_

He'd even signed it with a lipstick mark. He smirked to himself in triumph. He never could've guessed that it would be so easy to get Glanni to fall so hard.

\----------

Glanni loved Íþróttaálfurinn's reaction upon seeing him for the first time that night. His mouth was parted open slightly, and best was that he had stayed in his usual outfit, making him seem terribly inept. Glanni was preening at the attention.

"You didn't dress up for me even a little?" He teased. The other man seemed to be focusing on his bare forearms.

He seemed to shake his head back into reality before replying, "I'll just have to make it up to you by buying your drinks."

"Mm. That's what I like to hear."

He sat at the stool next to him. Was he even trying to be subtle about his staring? He crossed his legs.

"My eyes are up here," He scolded, more to get a flustered reaction than anything. It worked. "I changed my mind, Íþróttaá. You're not a cow, you're a pig."

He laughed. "That's being a little harsh. You look nice tonight, is all. You don't usually, uh..." He bit his lip. "Show that much skin."

"You've seen more than just my arms plenty of times. This isn't new to you."

"I know, but here it's more... What's the word, pronounced?"

"Yes, I think that works." He relaxed, allowing their legs to touch under the table.

They ordered their drinks, a bourbon whiskey and a dessert wine.

"I was beginning to think you didn't drink." Glanni said.

"I do a little, sometimes."

Wine had a much higher alcohol content than whiskey, but Glanni was determined not to get drunk first. He took consistently small sips and talked for most of the conversation so he wouldn't have to drink.

"And then he said 'No offense'. Bitch, no, _full_ offense!"

Íþró snorted. "This is why I started dating you."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "So we're an item now, then?"

"I'd like to be." He said bluntly.

Somebody was obviously a lightweight.

"You're always so forward." He hummed. "What would you want me for? I'm a criminal."

"Oh yeah."

"Doesn't that go against your code of honor or something?" He paused. Then, sounding as carefully nonchalant as possible, "How do I know this isn't some kind of trap?"

Íþró looked shocked. "Hey, what would I do that for?" His cheeks were so red after just three glasses. He'd chugged them down pretty fast. "Don't tell me that's happened to you before?"

"You're right. Nothing that specific, anyway."

"That's pretty vague," His elbow was propped up on the table, supporting his head. "Don't you wanna talk about it?"

"Not with you." It was the wrong thing to say.

"But... you're my boyfriend!" He had a cheesy smile.

The word "boyfriend" was somehow so much more embarrassing to Glanni than anything else he called him. And yet, it was the truth. "So you think I should be able to trust you with my secrets now?" He snapped.

"Not all of them! Everyone has something they can't tell other people. But if it helps me understand you better... I'd like to know." His gaze was warm and inviting as he waited for a response.

Glanni looked down. He didn't speak for... Fifteen seconds? Thirty? He was sweating now. "You're too good for me." He said flatly.

\----------

"What?"

"Why have you been so nice to me lately? You shouldn't be." Glanni looked at him fiercely.

"Wait, explain."

"Never mind."

"Glanni!" He protested. "I don't know what's going on, but... I don't think you're a bad person. Honest." This was getting to be worrying. If this was some elaborate scheme to get Íþró to feel sorry for him, then, well, it was working. 

The other man was on the defensive- arms crossed, leaning away, displaying every "don't touch me" sign in the book. But he needed to comfort him somehow.

"We should..." His brain was a little foggy thanks to all that beer. "We should go somewhere else."

"What."

"Where are you staying?"

The question seemed to ease Glanni's hostility. He got up from his seat. "Follow me, darling."

It was cold outside. So cold, in fact, that little snowflakes were starting to fall. They didn't stick to the ground, though, melting before they could clump together. The frigidness caused Íþró to shudder. Why didn't he ever wear a damn jacket?

"Ever since _somebody_ caught Rikki Ríki, I haven't been able to afford the fanciest rooms in town."

Íþró took Glanni's hand. He glanced back at him, but didn't say anything else.

As soon as they were inside, Glanni pulled him into a sloppy kiss. He kissed him back, drunkenly, before he remembered the _actual_ reason they were back at his place. He gently pushed him away.

"What, are you feeling shy all of a sudden?"

"No, I wanted to talk to you is all."

"What about?" He scoffed. "You talk too much."

"About me being 'too good' for you."

"Ah, that. It doesn't matter-"

"Yes, it does!" He interrupted. "It matters."

Glanni growled in frustration, one hand clutching his head as if he had a headache. "Look," He snarled. "I was a mistake. You're not supposed to care about my 'tragic past'."

"You were a _mistake_?"

"Yes!"

"What does that even mean?"

"If it'll get you to shut up," He said, "Then I'll tell you."

\----------

Glanni had been the illegitimate son of a gambler and a slimy politician. The result of a discreet affair. He never met his father, but he saw him on TV screens every now and then, denying his existence. 

His mother had to earn more to put food on the table. She got a second job. "You're lucky I'm taking care of you," She'd say. "As soon as you're old enough, I want you to start doing your part around here." She didn't care how he did it- even as a child, Glanni was held financially responsible as a member of the household. He had to get the money somewhere.

He started as a pickpocket, moving onto armed threats and robberies. The police came to their house sometimes. He hid the drugs he sold well. It was never enough. He was still thousands of dollars in debt with loan sharks around the country, who would no doubt be tracking him down to collect soon.

\----------

"That's why I'm not a good person." His voice shook, but he said it with finality. "That's why you shouldn't want any romance from me. I have none to give."

Íþró was staring at him. "Glanni."

"Please go." He muttered. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

"No, hang on a second. It's not your fault."

"What are you talking about? You have no idea!" He was fuming. "You have no idea what it's like to be this vile. I don't want your goddamn pity."

"It's not pity! It's called compassion."

"You feel _sorry_ for me."

"I don't. Because you have nothing to be sorry for."

Glanni was silent. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure that Íþró must have heard it. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his life. Even he couldn't talk his way out of this one.

"I'm not going anywhere." The other man said steadily. He rested his hand on Glanni's back, between his shoulder blades. The contact was reassuring. 

He wasn't used to physical contact in such a subtle sense, but he thought that he loved it. Touch could be a passive comfort without needing to use words. It felt safe. 

"You're an idiot." He said weakly.


	6. Chapter 6

Glanni had to admit that burying his face in Íþróttaálfurinn's chest was inarguably nice. A hand was running through his hair, and Íþró occasionally stopped to give him little forehead kisses. He was curled up in a ball, and their position made it feel like Íþró was taller. Glanni was so calm and _warm_.

He looked up into the dim light, where the other man had a serene smile on his face. He leaned in and gave him a quick, experimental kiss. Probably the first kiss they'd shared, he realized, that wasn't out of any kind of lust. Not that he still didn't want to fuck Íþró until he forgot his name. He settled on kissing for now.

The two of them eventually wound up on the bed facing each other, Íþró's arms lazily wrapped around his side. He was asleep. Glanni pressed in close to his chest and kept himself awake. The elf smelled strongly of bourbon, but he didn't care. He was too comfortable. And of course, part of him was still terrified. But he was glad he'd given in and just told Íþró what he wanted.

\----------

Out of all the ways Íþró expected their date to go... holding him and kissing him was not on the list of possibilities. Not with him _meaning_ it, anyway. He chuckled to himself. There was no way he could just toss Glanni now, and he didn't really want to. He was getting antsy just lying there so late in the morning, but the other man was clinging to his arm like it was a stuffed animal. Everyone knows you shouldn't wake a sleeping cat.

His head throbbed with a dull pain, a reminder of the whiskey from last night. His memories were intact, at least. There wasn't a fog covering last night's events, but more of a dreamy haze. 

Glanni really did look cute in the outfit he'd chosen for their date last night. The blouse's collar had slipped past his shoulder overnight. His brow was furrowed even in his sleep, and some of his eye makeup was smudged. His eyes fluttered open right as Íþró was staring.

"Hi." Glanni said softly.

"Hi."

The other man yawned. "I don't want to get up yet."

"We probably should..."

"Nooooooo." He shifted so that he was laying across his chest. Pushing him aside would've been easy, but it was amusing to see him acting so clingy.

"Okay." He said.

"Good." Glanni was already falling back asleep.

"Come on, stay up." He nudged him. He received a stony glare from the man laying on top of him. "We need to eat something."

"But-"

"There will be other times when we can do this, you know." He reminded him.

Glanni reluctantly slid out of bed, rubbing his eyes, not caring because his makeup was already ruined. He let out a long and dramatic sigh. Íþró ignored him, shuffling through the cabinets.

"Don't you have any food?"

"No... I haven't been staying here long."

"That's okay, I'll be right back." He was out of the door and sprinting into a field within seconds. He spotted an apple tree and climbed up, plucking the fruits from where they hung. He ran back just as quickly as he ran out, entering to find a stunned Glanni.

"Here, you should really eat more íþróttanammi."

"I- okay. That was fast."

They eventually went their separate ways. Íþró had goofed around long enough, and he had towns he was supposed to be protecting. He kissed Glanni one more time before he left, like a husband heading off to work.

"I'll see you again soon?" Íþró asked.

"Sure."

"Good."

If Íþróttaálfurinn was energetic before, he was absolutely bouncing off the walls now. He was so happy that he had to release the feeling somehow, whether that was by jumping, spinning, cartwheeling, or just running really fast. The kids kept asking him why he was yelling. He did a triple somersault, landing with a flourish.

He knew that Glanni was mean to the kids before and that they might not like hearing about him but he was _excited_.

"You'll never guess who I ran into the other day!" He stopped bouncing long enough so they could understand what he was saying, then returned to his antics.

"Who? Who?" Siggi cried.

He did a split. "Glanni Glæpur!"

"Whaaaaat!?" The kids went into an uproar of questions.

"Is this another prank?" Nenni demanded. "Wait a minute... now that I think about it..."

All eyes were on him now. He brushed off his vest, obviously loving the attention. "I think I saw him the other day, too!"

The small crowd of horrified teenagers became totally incoherent. "Guys, guys! Calm down!" Íþró yelled, hands cupped around his mouth. They fell silent. "It's okay!"

"That's right!" Solla added. "Íþróttaálfurinn will protect us!" She was squeezing Halla's hand to comfort her.

"No, I mean he's different now!"

Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

"Come on, that's not funny!" Solla said. "Halla's actually scared!"

"I am _not_!" She protested.

"There's nothing to worry about. I, uh, talked with him!"

Nenni spoke up. "Is that what the letter was for?"

"Yes, Glanni wrote it for me."

"How do you know he's not lying about being nice now. Hm?"

"Nenni, _you're_ not being nice right now." Still, he tried to think of a way to reassure the kids without going in-depth about why Glanni did the things he did. For that matter, was he planning to change anytime soon?

He couldn't just let Glanni commit crimes, but he wasn't a bad person, and he wouldn't be able to get a nice job with his record, and it was hard to think about something so morally grey. Good people were rewarded, bad people were punished. But what if you were somewhere in-between?

He needed to say something. "Maybe... Maybe I could let you meet him. This is important to me, guys."

"What do you mean?" Goggi's bright green head was tilted in confusion.

He swallowed. "We're kind of... we might be dating, now?"

"Íþróttaálfurinn, how could you?" Halla yelped. Her face was getting red. Íþró suddenly felt incredibly guilty.

"Of course you don't have to meet him if you don't want to," He said carefully to everyone, eyes scanning the crowd. "But I think everyone deserves a second chance. Don't you?"

They were all still very skeptical, but they nodded reluctantly. 

"I wouldn't bring somebody bad into Latabæ. You know that, right?"

They seemed to agree.

"Good. How about I ask him when he wants to come hang out with us?

Jives sighed. "If you think you know what you're doing, man."

\----------

Glanni was attempting to scrub off his waterproof mascara in the mirror. He didn't mind at all if it stayed on his lashes, it was the ugly gray smudges under his eyes he didn't like. He wiped away at the marks until his skin was pink and irritated. But the stupid makeup still wasn't off.

He heard something by the door. It sounded like something... scraping up against it, maybe? The noise was gone as soon as he walked out of the bathroom and into the main room, but there was something on the floor. A yellow envelope.

He picked it up in his curiosity, finding no address, just blocky letters that said "GLANNI" on the front. Oh, he realized, this was because he'd sent Íþró a letter the morning before. So this would be their preferred method of communication, he mused. How old-fashioned. He ripped it open.

_Glanni,_

_Sorry I was mean to you before. I try to have no mercy for criminals, as I've always had a strong sense of justice, but... You're a lot more complex than I thought. And I really like you. And I think you should meet the kids again, too! You're welcome to join us tomorrow for lunch and a workout? Okay, maybe just lunch._

_Íþróttaálfurinn_ ;})

He wanted him to "meet" the kids? He reread the sentence. Again? This was extremely sudden of the elf. They'd had, what, two dates? And he already wanted him to meet his family? The one he _poisoned,_ for hell's sake?

He wished he could tell what was happening in Íþró's brain. As in, what on Earth made him think that this was even a remotely good idea. He was so confident, in fact, that he even signed it with a little mustache happy face.

What had he gotten himself into by dating this man? Well... he could find out tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You finally get to read fluff, yay! Look forward to the next chapter where Glanni makes an awkward attempt to redeem himself.


	7. Chapter 7

"You came!" The elf said pleasantly.

"Yeah... here I am." Glanni was wearing round sunglasses and a floppy hat for the occasion. The kids were too busy to even notice him; they were digging through their lunch boxes and noisily munching away. Maybe this could be low-key.

"Hey, guys!" Íþró hollered. Or not.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Glanni. Their faces varied in expression from curious to angry.

"I brought Glanni!" He clapped his hand on his shoulder. It was then that he remembered why he hated Íþróttaálfurinn.

He waved sheepishly at the group. Everyone awkwardly returned to their business, trying to act like they weren't paying attention to him. He plopped down to his knees on the picnic blanket. 

Íþró, seemingly unaffected, sat down next to him with a tacky woven basket.

"Why are you doing this?" Glanni grumbled. "I poisoned these kids. I wrongfully imprisoned them, and the ones I _didn't_ imprison, I forced to work for me in a sweatshop.

"I think if you apologize, they'll forgive you. And you'll be able to walk around Latabæ as you please without having to be all sneaky." Íþró handed him a homemade turkey sandwich with mayonnaise. No vegetables, at least.

"I can't just _apologize!_ " He hissed. "This is incredibly awkward."

Siggi was the first to approach them. He was visibly nervous, but asked: "Did you bring any candy?" 

Glanni frowned. "Hi. I, er, I'm afraid not?"

"Aw."

"Siggi," Íþró reminded him. "It's Friday."

"Right." He said gloomily.

"What's the day got anything to do with it?" Glanni asked.

"We're only supposed to eat candy on Saturdays."

"What? That's ridiculous!"

"No it isn't," Íþró said. "It's not good for you!"

He mimicked Íþró in a low-pitched voice. "Ooh, it's not _good_ for you!"

Siggi watched them go back and forth like he was seeing a ping-pong match. He couldn't keep up with the constant counters.

"Glanni, you shouldn't question the rules."

"I'm a grown man! And these are rules you _made up,_ for Christ's sake!" He turned to Siggi. "I'll bring you some chocolate next time."

"No he won't."

"Of course I will. Who's going to stop me, you?"

"Yes!"

"I'd like to see you try, Íþróttaápig." Either they were flirting, or they were about to kick each other's asses over this argument. Or both. Poor Siggi coughed.

"It's okay, I'm sure Jives brought something tasty. Bye!" He said too quickly, scurrying back to the rest of the boys.

The kids had all been watching him again, but they quickly turned around. Goggi whistled innocently.

Glanni groaned inwardly.

"Well, thank you for lunch. I'd better be going." He said to Íþró. He brushed the crumbs off his catsuit.

Íþró started. "Wait."

"Whaaaaat."

There was no response. The big oaf couldn't think of anything to say to get him to stay. He scoffed and turned on his heel.

He left by turning into a neighborhood, so he could avoid the busy streets. It wouldn't do for him to be recognized by anyone else. He heard footsteps behind him. "What is it now, Íþró?" He groaned. He turned around to see Solla standing in front of him.

"Oh, you're that pink girl."

"Not as pink as you," She retorted.

"Fair enough. What did you follow me for?"

"I wanna talk to you."

She had guts. Glanni smirked in appreciation. "What is it?"

She came a few steps closer. "What are you doing with Íþróttaálfurinn?"

He _almost_ said something along the lines of, "what am I _not_ doing with him", but remembered he was talking to a kid. A punk-ass kid that had her hands balled into fists, but a kid nonetheless.

"Íþró and I are in a relationship now," He explained, articulating like she was a preschooler. "But he still loves you and those other brats very much, okay?"

She was full-on glaring at him now. "Íþróttaálfurinn says you're good now, but I'm not sure I can believe that..."

"Then don't."

"Okay." Her eyes locked onto his fiercely. She reminded him of Íþró. "I won't. I just want you to do one thing, and that's stay away from Halla?"

"What? Who?" These were genuine questions.

"The girl with pigtails that you put in jail!" She growled. "She may not act like it, but I know that she's still upset... So back off of her!"

Her last sentence almost sounded like a plea, and Glanni could see how strongly she felt. She must care a great deal about this girl. Even as angry tears rose to her eyes, she refused to let them fall, looking him dead in the eye. 

"...I understand." He assured her. He felt a sudden wave of guilt crash over him for forgetting Halla's name, and for apparently hurting her more than he'd realized. But he wouldn't be guilt-tripped by some whiny teenager, no matter how good her makeup was.

Solla didn't say anything else, she just turned around and jogged back to where she came from.

\----------

In his reverie yesterday, Íþróttaálfurinn had forgotten that he and Glanni were pretty different people. Did he care about him? Yes. Was he fun to snuggle or have sex with? Yes. Did they agree with each other?... Not really, no.

Still, it was probably about time he went after him and asked what happened. He ran into Solla on the way, curiously enough. She avoided his questions and jogged off.

He'd chased after Glanni enough to know which way he'd go. He usually took the path less travelled to avoid being seen, so he turned into a road full of small houses and apartment complexes. "Glanni?" He called. No answer.

He flipped through the streets, stopping occasionally to yell the other man's name. He found him walking down to his motel, facing away from him.

"Hey!" Íþró shouted.

Glanni stopped, then hesitantly turned around. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? You left so suddenly!"

"Right. Sorry."

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Those kids shouldn't have to see me." Glanni said firmly. "They don't need to forgive me, and I'm not going to force them to."

Íþró was startled. "They- what brought on this?"

"Common sense, Íþróttaálfurinn!" He snapped. "I'm not going to invade their peaceful lives by asking them to 'make friends' with somebody who hurt them."

"But... You're not a monster! Over time, I think-"

"No! I have no idea how you can stand me either. Don't you care about them?"

"Of course I do. I care about both of you."

Glanni let out a long sigh. "...I have no idea how this is going to work."

Íþróttaálfurinn took his hand. "It's okay, kitten. You're right. I'll figure out a better idea."

He blushed at the nickname. "I-I should go now." He actually _stuttered_. God, he was cute.

"Alright then! I'll write you another letter sometime soon..." He let their hands slip away from each other, then flipped away back to town.

This would be messy, but he was determined to stay with Glanni. There had to be some other way to make sure Latabæ was comfortable with their relationship, right? He jumped into his balloon and sat down with his hands on his knees. And he got an amazingly stupid idea.

He went to the Latabæ Post Office, bought a pack of envelopes, and wrote a short note.

_Meet me in front of Rocky's at six! From there we can go find somewhere to have dinner. I have a few ideas._

_Íþróttaálfurinn_

\----------

"...You want me to do _what_?" Glanni asked, looking up from his meal.

"You're pretty good at disguising yourself. Santa Claus shouldn't be a challenge."

"...You're serious?"

"It's almost Christmas!"

"Yeah, but they're a little old to be sitting on Santa's lap, aren't they?"

"Nah, they still get really excited about that stuff," Íþró eagerly explained. "I've seen you when you slip into other personas. You're magic, aren't you?"

"Huh?" It was true- he found out as a teenager that his father was a fae. He didn't have wings, but he did inherit his father's charmspeak powers, making him very charismatic. He was a naturally talented actor, and he could hide his emotions well.

"Well, yes." Glanni admitted. "I'm half fae."

Íþró smiled. "I knew it. I could feel your magic."

He looked down at his plate and started cutting into the steak Íþró bought him. "So you think that if I pretend to be Santa Claus, it will somehow make them more comfortable with me?"

"In a subtle way, yes. They'll subconsciously connect you with a person that they trust. And it will be fun!"

"I'll think about it."

"Aw, Glanni, you never celebrate Christmas with everyone else."

"There's a reason," He scowled. "I never celebrated it growing up either."

Íþró's mouth was wide open in shock. "You've _never_ had _one_ Christmas?"

"Nope."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard!"

"I doubt that."

Íþró stood up and smacked his hands on the table. "That's it. You are going to have the best holiday season _ever,_ whether it's Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or... any of the other ones."

"You're making a bit of a scene," Glanni whispered.

Íþró glanced around, where many of the other customers were staring worriedly towards their booth. "Ah." He said blankly. He resumed sitting.

"Still. Prepare yourself... for fun."

"I'll keep that in mind." Glanni facepalmed.


End file.
